


On the Inconsiderate Nature of the Lesser Races

by ktyxdovahkiin



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Chorrol, Class Issues, Curmudgeon, Discrimination, Fantastic Racism, Misanthrope, Oak and Crosier, Redemption, Ta'agra, Thalmor, Thalmor Embassy, and not all Thalmor are irredeemable supremacist rat bastards, not all Altmer are Thalmor, recluse, unlikeable narrator, unpleasant narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 05:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21452482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktyxdovahkiin/pseuds/ktyxdovahkiin
Summary: This story is a homage to J.M. Barrie's short story, "The Inconsiderate Waiter".After the White-Gold Concordat, Thalmor Embassies were established in every major population center in the Imperial Heartland. Embassies need staff. Some of those Altmer who found employment were Imperial citizens born and bred. They took new oaths as citizens of the Aldmeri Dominion.Altmer mage Ancotar made a home in Fort Caractacus, near Aleswell north of the Imperial City, during the Oblivion Crisis. All he has ever wanted in his life is order, structure, routine and reasonable comfort. Two centuries were enough for him to sate his curiosity about arcane research, and he now resides in Chorrol, a Senior Secretary in the Thalmor Embassy. Interactions with others are kept to a minimum, and he has the creature comforts of the Oak and Crosier to enjoy daily. The curmudgeonly misanthrope has this much, and no more, to look ahead to for the rest of his life.Until he meets the Dragonborn.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	On the Inconsiderate Nature of the Lesser Races

I will tell you plainly, “Dragonborn”, that I find these current circumstances improbable in the extreme, and I certainly have never expected to sit down to dinner with a personage like yourself. I am, frankly, astounded, if I may use so strong a term, that I am here at all. I do feel a certain curiosity as to why I and several others among my colleagues at the Thalmor Embassy in Chorrol have been spared the sword in all this upheaval. The savagery of your race, after all, is known all across Tamriel, and some of the rumors surrounding you yourself I shall not dignify with a retelling in your presence. Perhaps you shall be so gracious as to satisfy my curiosity today. But as to that bizarre question of yours which you have just posed to me…

No, I do not, in point of fact, know why I am alive. I suspect you are not in fact asking me if I know why I have not been _killed_ \- you will tell me if I am mistaken, but that does not seem to me to be the thrust of your question. It is, after all, a question whose answer is known first and foremost to you, since you gave the orders regarding who among the Thalmor captives was to live or die.

As to these other trifling matters which you have just brought up, I must say they seem to be of no importance whatsoever. Why should I be aware of the report of my character that some citizens of Chorrol have given of me? You lesser races are forever gossiping and spreading all kinds of calumnies about your betters, making all kinds of claims with no foundation in truth. I have never bothered myself overmuch about what these people say of me.

What? I’m not sure I understand your question fully. You want to know what the passage of days has been like for me here, I suppose. Oh, very well.

These days, as I walk the streets of Chorrol, I find I frequently have to ask myself for the name of the person who just bowed or smiled at me, and before I can puzzle it out the person has left the immediate vicinity, or melted into the ever-present throng on the streets. I have a theory, however, that all those faceless nameless strangers whom I never recognize are Bretons, and acquainted with my waiter. Yes, my waiter, Bernard.

Until Bernard forced his affairs upon me the only Bretons I encountered were some of the auxiliary serving staff on the Embassy grounds, though I’ve been here on this posting in Chorrol for fifteen years. I knew they existed, of course, but I was unaware whether they slept in their own Embassy quarters or had their own homes; nor had I the interest to enquire of my fellow Thalmor, nor they the knowledge to inform me. I hold that all these members of the lesser races should be housed and fed and clothed and given airing and families and children, and we citizens - excuse me - erstwhile citizens, I should say, of the Dominion paid taxes, I believe, for these purposes; but to come into closer relations with lesser races is bad form. They are distractions, and Bernard should have kept his distress to himself, or taken it away and patched it up like one of the rents in his coat. His inconsiderateness has weighed upon me for months.

It is not correct form for me to know the name of one of the staff, so I must apologize for knowing that of Bernard Bruiant, and still more for not forgetting it. I suppose it is because he has given such good service to me here at the Oak and Crosier for all these years. For quite some time I had acquired the habit of deferring my dining by several minutes so that he could wait on me. His habit of reserving for me a window seat had always been perfectly satisfactory. I allowed him some privileges, such as to suggest dishes, and I would give him needful information, such as when one of those obnoxious Imperials would startle me by the scraping of a chair or the slamming of a door. On one occasion I even showed him the little burn I had on my wrist from an alchemical mishap.

Obviously he was gratified by my attentions, and always responded appropriately with the suggestion of a beverage. And more, I fancy he understood my sufferings, for he often looked ill himself. Or perhaps he might have had pains of his own; I never thought of asking, and he had the sense not to tell me such things as he knew would be offensive to me.

The Oak and Crosier employs other waiters – one of them, a Nord like yourself, is so independent that once, when he brought me a Cyrodiilic brandy and I said I’d ordered the whiskey, he replied, “No, sir, you said brandy.” Bernard could never have been guilty of such effrontery. He never presumed to have opinions of his own. If I were to say, “It looks like rain soon,” he’d give the proper response of “Yes, sir,” and if two minutes later my colleague and fellow clerk Arenwe remarked, “It doesn’t look like rain at all,” he’d quite rightly say to her, “Indeed not, madam.” If I were to announce to him that something diverting had happened to me, he’d be ready with laughter before I’d even told him what it was. Over the years I had grown so used to Bernard that if he had died, I’d have prevailed upon the proprietress of this establishment to engage a skilled Conjurer and bring him back in some form. I greatly dislike change.

It is not becoming, perhaps, for me to know precisely when I began to consider Bernard an ingrate, but if I were so quizzed I would have to date his lapse to the evening when he brought me the Cairn Bolete omelette. I detest the texture and taste of Cairn Bolete, and no one knew it better than Bernard. He has agreed with me before that it is impossible to understand how any Mer of good taste can like them. And yet, on that day, he served my colleague Fasarel my Ironwood Nut salad and me his ghastly omelette. Both Fasarel and I wasted no time in calling for the head waiter. To do Bernard justice, he shook at the magnitude of his error, but never can I forget his audacious excuse:

“Beg pardon, Ancotar, Fasarel, sirs, but I was thinking of something else.”

With these words Bernard had flung off his masque, and I knew him for what he was.

I must not be accused of bad form for looking more closely at Bernard the next evening, and allowing him to wait on me again. If one has noticed that a chair is missing its cushion, one is entitled the next day to check before sitting down. So it was that I called for him again the next evening, and if the expression is not too strong, I may say that I was quite taken aback by his manner. Even while taking my order, he let one hand play over the other. I had to repeat “Slaughterfish on toast” twice, and instead of answering “Yes, sir” as if my selection was a personal gratification to him, which is the manner one expects of a waiter, especially one of a lesser race, Bernard glanced at the clock in the corner, then out the window, and then started and said, “I’m sorry, sir, did you say Slaughterfish on toast?”

I lay back in my seat. It was the middle of Sun’s Dusk, when the streets of Chorrol were lightly peppered with snow. By and by I saw a young Khajiit kynd, a girl, of the commonest kind – grey-furred with white patches – ill-clad and dirty as all these street cats are. Their kin should be compelled to feed and clothe them comfortably, and perhaps to keep them indoors instead of letting them wander around offending our eyes. Of course, as any other self-respecting Altmer I would push them aside with a walking staff were I to meet them on the road, but I chanced to notice this one because she was gazing straight at the window of the Oak and Crosier. She had stood thus for about ten minutes when I became aware that someone was leaning over me to look out the window. I turned to see who it was.

Conceive my indignation when I discovered that the rude person was Bernard.

“How dare you, Bernard?” I said sternly. He ignored me. Let me now describe, in a sober and measured way, what transpired next. To get nearer to the window, _he pressed his hand heavily upon my shoulder. _

“Bernard! You forget yourself!” I said, meaning – as I see now – that he had forgotten _me._

He seemed distraught, but not at my reprimand. His eyes scanned the street, up and down. His hand trembled on my shoulder, and as I pushed him away I could see that his mouth was agape.

“What are you looking for?”

He noticed me then. He blanched, and then seemed to be brought back to the room, as though his soul were returning from entrapment in a Soul Gem to its original body. He turned away for an instant and answered shakily, “I’m sorry, sir! I shouldn’t have done it. Did… did you want an Ironwood Nut salad?”

He brought it to me, and awaited my verdict so anxiously as I ate that I was about to respond graciously, when again I saw that his eyes were being dragged to the windows.

“That’s _enough,_ Bernard,” I said, my patience giving way at last. “I dislike being waited upon by a melancholy waiter.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, trying to smile, and then he burst out, “Mara’s mercy, sir, please tell me, have you seen a little Khajiit girl looking in at the windows?”

He had been a good waiter once, and his distracted visage was spoiling my repast.

“There,” I said, indicating the direction with my fork. I would have added that he must bring me the cheese tray immediately, had he been bothered to listen. But immediately he was leaning over me again, and beckoning to the Khajiit. I have not the least interest in her – indeed, it strikes me as a pity that these lesser races should have their own private affairs – but as I happened to be looking out, I could not avoid seeing what occurred. As soon as the kitten saw him, she ran out into the street, heedless of the passing carriages and people, and nodded sharply at him three times before turning and running off.

She was, as I have said, a thoroughly unprepossessing kitten, with no remarkable features of any kind; yet it was astounding the effect she had produced in Bernard, who sagged with relief, as if a great weight of anxiety had been taken from him. He even gave a little laugh of happiness. I had dined well, on the whole, and so I said, “I am glad to see you cheerful again, Bernard.”

I meant, of course, that I approved of his cheerful countenance which would be a help to my digestion, but he evidently took this as a sign of my sympathy for him.

“Thank you, sir. Oh, sir! When she nodded and I saw that it was all right I could’ve dropped to my knees and thanked the Nine.”

I sat still, as horrified as if he had dropped a plate at my feet. And he recollected himself, too, and flung out his hands as if to recall his shameful words.

“Cheese, Bernard!”

I bit into the cheese indignantly, for it was plain to me that Bernard had something on his mind.

“You are not vexed with me, Ancotar, sir?” he whispered, presently.

“It was a liberty.”

“I know, sir, but I was beside myself.”

“That, too, was a liberty.”

“As you say sir, just that… You see, sir, it’s my wife.”

Immediately I flung out a hand to stop him from proceeding further. So Bernard, whom I had favored in so many ways, was married! I might have known. I was vaguely aware that the lower classes did this sort of thing, but to have it be made so plain to me was thoroughly upsetting. I said warningly, “Remember to whom you are speaking, Bernard.”

“Yes, sir; but you see, she is so delicate…”

“Delicate! I forbid you to speak of unpleasant topics.”

I wanted him to withdraw his wife, as he would withdraw an unpleasant dish not to my satisfaction. Perhaps I shall be chided for inquiring further about his wife, but my motive was irreproachable. I was not asking out of concern; I merely wished to allay my irritation. So might I be entitled to invite a wayfarer who has bespattered my cloak with mud to scrape it off.

I desired to be told by Bernard that the Khajiit’s signals told of a full recovery to health. He should have discerned that such was my wish, and answered accordingly. But instead, with the brutal inconsiderateness endemic to the lesser races, he answered, “She has had a good day… but the priests, they’re afraid she’s dying.”

Already I repented me of my questioning. It seemed as though Bernard and his wife were in league against me, when they so easily might have chosen another Mer.

“Pooh – priests!” I said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you been married long?”

“Eight years, sir. Eight years ago, she was… I… I met her when… now the priests say…” He gulped, and said thickly, “More cheese, sir? Perhaps some wine? A fine Surilie white, perhaps?”

“What is her ailment?”

“She was always of a delicate constitution, but full of spirit, and… lately, she’s been with child…”

“Bernard!”

“And… the healer from the temple is afraid she’s not picking up.”

“I feel sure she will pick up.”

“Sir?”

It was perhaps the wine that made me say, “I was once married, Bernard. My wife – it was just such a case as yours.”

“Oh, were you, sir? Was she from the Isles?”

“No. No, in point of fact, she was a Bosmer. Born in Cyrodiil, like myself. We lived for many years north of the Imperial City, in a tower near an obscure village. You wouldn’t know it. Was your wife from High Rock?”

“Oh, no, sir, my wife’s from Hammerfell. She’s a Redguard. She grew up in Sentinel.”

“As a rule, Redguards are not possessed of delicate constitutions.”

“No, sir, but a childhood sickness… well… your wife, she… she did not get better, sir?”

“No.”

After a pause he said, “Thank you, sir.”

It must have been the wine, I say.

“That little Khajiit girl comes with a message from your wife?”

“Yes; if she nods three times, it means my wife is a little better today.”

“She did that.”

“But maybe she is told to do that, to relieve me, and it’s not the truth.”

“Do you know her well?”

“No, she’s the child of neighbors. They let her come twice every day.”

“It is heartless of them not to let her come every hour.”

“But she is very young,” he said, “and they have a large family to look after, siblings for her to take care of. She has to do many things about the house. But I suppose you wouldn’t understand, sir.”

“I suppose you live in a low part of town.”

“The… the south-west, sir,” he said, flushing a little. “But it isn’t low to us. You see, we were never used to anything better. I had a small house there, left as an inheritance from my great-grandparents who’ve lived here in Chorrol all their lives, and I remember when I first showed it to her, she… she cried, because she was so proud of it. That was eight years ago, and now… and now she’s afraid she’ll die when I’m away at work.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Never; she always says she’s feeling a little stronger.”

“Then how can you know?”

“I don’t know how I know, sir, but… when I’m leaving the house in the morning, and I look at her, and she looks back at me, and… and I just know, sir.”

“Brandy, Bernard! Colovian brandy!”

I tried to forget Bernard’s vulgar story over a game of Aetherium, but it had thoroughly spoiled my playing. I could usually beat out Arenwe by about twenty points or so, but on that evening I played so badly that when her lead grew to fifteen I got up and left the table peevishly. That was bad form; but what would they have thought if they’d realized a waiter’s impertinence had been the cause of it! I grew angrier with Bernard as the night wore on, and the next day I punished him by giving my orders through another waiter.

As I looked through the windows, I could not help noticing that the Khajiit girl was late again. Somehow, I dawdled over my Motherwort tea. I had a book before me, but there was so little that was engaging in it that I found my eyes wandering over to the street view. Of course it did not matter to me whether Bernard’s wife lived or died, but why had the girl not come when she had promised to? These lesser races give their word only to break it. My Motherwort tea was undrinkable.

At last I saw her. Bernard was at the next window, pretending to do something with the curtain. I stood up, feeling shaky from how bad the tea was, and pressed against the window. She nodded three times, and smiled.

“She’s feeling a little better,” Bernard whispered to me, almost gaily.

“Whom are you speaking of?” I replied coldly, and withdrew to the sitting room. The Motherwort tea tasted much better there than in the dining room, and I played a much better game of Aetherium than the night before, beating Arenwe by a solid twenty-four.

Several days passed before I called on Bernard’s services again. I wanted him to know I had forgotten his maunderings. I chanced to see the girl every day, though I never intentionally looked, and each time she nodded three times, except for one evening, when she shook her head and looked grave, and Bernard’s face turned as white as a sheet. I remember this incident because I played so badly that evening that Arenwe trounced me by a full sixty points. The thought of my abysmal playing kept me awake that night.

The next day I went early into the Oak and Crosier, and wanted to ask Bernard if I’d left my gloves there. The sight of him reminded me of his wife, and so I asked after her, but Bernard shook his head mournfully, and I stormed off in a rage.

The temerity of these lesser races! I despise any disruption to my routine – yet here Bernard was, hounding me out of the inn! So it was that I dined that day at another establishment, where the Slaughterfish was not properly seared and came without cream. As if that were not triumph enough for Bernard, his doleful visage came between me and the food, and I seemed to see in my mind’s eye his wife dying to annoy me.

The next day I returned to the Oak and Crosier, and resolutely went to a table in the middle, and accepted the services of a waiter who had once nearly poisoned me by serving me canis root tea with too much canis root. But Bernard did not come to seek me out and ask my forgiveness, and by the by I noticed that he was not anywhere in sight. Suddenly the thought came to me that his wife might be dead and I – it really was the worst-cooked and worst-served meal I had ever had in the Oak and Crosier.

I withdrew upstairs to the sitting room, and though the talk there was usually convivial and engaging, on that occasion I found it so frivolous that I did not remain for five minutes. Fasarel told me excitedly that the Civil War in Skyrim was coming to an end, and that there were hordes of dragons flying freely in the sky - your doing, I suppose - and that Thalmor First Emissary Elenwen was missing and presumed dead, and my strange comment to him was, “That seems to me to be a small matter.”

I went down to the basement taproom, where I had not been for many years, and there to my surprise I found Bernard cleaning the barrels in a corner.

“You haven’t heard, sir?” he whispered, in response to my raised eyebrows. Glancing about to make sure we were alone, he told me dolefully, “It was last evening, sir. I… I lost my head and… and swore at a patron. Your Embassy colleague, Arenwe.”

I stepped back, aghast.

“I hardly knew what I was about yesterday. For you see, I’d just left my wife, and she was doing poorly…”

I stamped my foot and gnashed my teeth.

“I am sorry to speak of her, sir,” he had the grace to say, “but I couldn’t help going often to the windows to look out for Ma’zurah, and when the girl came she was crying, and, and I felt confused, sir, and I didn’t know what I was doing, and I happened to brush against Secretary Arenwe’s shoulder just as she was getting up from her seat, and she jumped up and swore at me, dusting her sleeve off as if I’d touched her with something filthy, and… and it stung me a fair bit, to be treated like that, and… and I lost my senses – I swore back.”

Bernard’s shamed head sank on his chest. “Please don’t let them dismiss me, sir!” he cried out suddenly, with coarse emotion.

“Hush! Who sent you down here?”

“I was turned out of the dining room at once and told to keep down here until they’d decided what to do with me. Oh, sir, please, I can’t lose my place here!”

He was blubbering as if a change in waiters was a matter of great importance.

“This is very bad, Bernard,” I said. “I’m afraid I can do nothing for you.”

“I’ll go on my knees to Secretary Arenwe, no, Lady Arenwe, and apologize.”

How could I not despise a person who would debase himself so?

“I daren’t tell my wife if I lose my place. She would just fall back and die.”

“I forbid you,” I said sharply, “to speak of her, unless it were something pleasant.”

“But she may be worse today, and I cannot see Ma’zurah from here, with no windows.”

I threw up my hands and retreated from the scene. I feel sure Bernard was able to sense that I took real umbrage from his importunate behavior. Everyone knows there is no real affection among the “ephems” – the ephemeral lesser races. As soon as they lose one mate they take another. Yet, the way Bernard carried on was as though he was suffering a tragedy of timeless proportions.

I repaired to the upstairs sitting room, where I found that the whiskey was so foul I could not drink it. By the by, I remembered that I’d wanted to speak to Arenwe, who was sitting in a corner, about some reports that had come out of your remote northern province of Skyrim, so I did so. Having questioned her to my satisfaction about the reports, I then said to her, “Oh, yes. What’s this I hear then, about you swearing at one of the waiters?”

“You mean, about his swearing at me,” she said, her amber skin turning a darker hue as she flushed angrily.

“Ah, yes, I’m glad to hear it. I could not believe it was you who was guilty of such bad form,” I said.

“Well, if I did swear…” she began.

I continued, “The version which reached me was that you swore at him, and he repeated the words. I heard he was to be dismissed, and you reprimanded by the Fourth Emissary.”

“Who told you that?” Arenwe said. She is a timid Altmer. Both she and I were Cyrodiilic Altmer diaspora – Imperial citizens, in other words – before we both sought employment in the Thalmor Embassy here in Chorrol, thus effectively becoming Dominion subjects. But unlike me, she has never felt fully confident in her position within the orderly structure of the Embassy. She is particularly sensitive to the impression our immediate superiors have of her.

“I forget. It is just idle talk at the Embassy,” I replied lightly. “Of course, I’m sure the Fourth Emissary will take your word for it. The waiter, of whatever race he is, will surely be deemed worthy of dismissal from his job, at least, for insulting you without provocation.”

Then our talk returned to the reports, but Arenwe seemed distracted, and presently she commented, “Do you know, I fancy I was wrong in thinking the waiter swore at me. I think I’ll go withdraw my complaint forthwith. Can’t let such a matter drag on. Wouldn’t be efficient. Do excuse me.”

After she had left, I took her place, and then I realized I had probably done Bernard a service. The motivation for that, I understand now, was surely just this: that he, alone of the waiters at the Oak and Crosier, knew just how I liked my brandy heated.

Then for the ghost of a moment I seemed to recall that Bernard had mentioned he could not see the Khajiit girl, but immediately the thought was driven from my mind by the recollection that my midday meal had, in point of fact, been truncated. So I returned to the dining room, and sat down at my usual table by the window. There it was that I happened by chance to see the Khajiit kitten whose nods had such an absurdly powerful effect upon my waiter Bernard.

She was there on the other side, thoughtlessly failing to sign to the window in hope of catching Bernard’s attention. Instead, she simply stood there, craning her neck. Her face, smudged and dirty, bore a look of dismay and doubt, though it was impossible to tell whether the news she brought was good or bad. Somehow I had conceived an irrational expectation that upon seeing me at the window she would deliver her signals, and when she didn’t do so, I was in the mood in which that which one is awaiting does not occur. It was a very disagreeable frame of mind to be in. Eventually, she seemed to be making up her mind to go away.

The Black Horse Courier delivery woman was cantering past just then, and I ran out to grab the latest copy – rather thoughtlessly, for the Oak and Crosier did have them all in the sitting room, as I belatedly realized once I was out the door. Unfortunately, as I exited the inn I appeared to have misunderstood the delivery woman’s direction, and I failed to intercept her as planned. Instead, I found myself walking towards the kitten Ma’zurah, and so in passing I hailed her and asked how Bernard’s wife was.

She shrank from me a little, as I do not doubt she was a little apprehensive of me in my severe and imposing Thalmor attire. But she responded to my query promptly enough.

“Bernard sent you to this one?” she impertinently said, her eyes very wide, as if I were a hired messenger. “S’rendarr’s claws! This one believes you are one of _them._ Well! This one was to signal to Bernard that his missus has eaten all the shepherd’s pie.”

“How were you to let him know this?”

“This one was supposed to do like this,” she said, and pantomimed eating off a plate.

“That would not show she ate all the pie.”

“But this one was to end like this,” she said, and made as though she were licking the imaginary plate clean.

I gave her a few septims (to get rid of her), and went back into the inn, feeling disgusted.

Later in the evening, I went back down to the taproom, enduring the hubbub of low-toned conversation from the tavern patrons there, and swiftly located Bernard still in a corner. I went up to him and demanded a drink, and while he was pouring it out for me from the barrel I said, “By the way, Bernard, Arenwe is to retract her complaint of you, since she evidently was mistaken in the charge she laid against you. So I expect you will be returned to the dining room in short order.”

There were _people _in the taproom, yet Bernard had the effrontery to _thank me._

“Don’t thank me,” I said, furious at the imputation. “Remember your place, Bernard!”

“But Secretary Arenwe knew I swore,” he said, wonderingly.

“One of our kind,” I said stiffly, “cannot remember for more than a day what a member of a lesser race says to him or her.”

“No, of course, sir, but…”

To stop him I had to say, “And, ah, Bernard, your wife is a little better. She has eaten the shepherd’s pie – all of it.”

“How do you know, sir?”

“By accident.”

“Ma’zurah signed to the window?”

“No.”

“Then you saw her, and went out, and…”

“Nonsense!”

“Oh, Ancotar, sir! To do that for me! Divines bless your kind…”

“Bernard!”

He wrung my hands, and I dared not pull them out of his grasp, lest we attract undue attention in the taproom.

In due course he returned to service in the dining room, and I warned him time and again not to keep casting me those ridiculous grateful looks. I also ordered him to stop telling me nightly how his wife was, though I could not help but know whenever Ma’zurah reported from outside the window. Twice in a week I learned from that objectionable kitten that again, Bernard’s wife had eaten all the shepherd’s pie.

Then I became suspicious of Bernard. I will tell you why.

It began with an innocuous enough remark from my colleague Fasarel. We were in the sitting room, and he was expounding at length on what he thought about the volatile political situation in the north.

“We would have done better to have made Skyrim secede from the Empire,” he was saying. “I am aware that stated Thalmor policy was for the internecine conflict to become as protracted as possible, but this outcome hardly serves the Dominion. In fact, I suppose hostilities will soon resume, if the Empire is to recover more of its military capabilities thanks to the reunification with Skyrim. Won’t be surprised if the lesser peoples around these parts start getting more fractious. Why, I fancy they already are. Just the other day, Ancotar, that glum waiter of yours, what’s his name, he often takes to his heels the moment his work shift ends, and the other day he bumped into me as I was coming in the door, the nerve of that varlet, before running off to the Square for gods know what.”

“You mean, the other way,” I said, for that was where the poor quarter was, and where Bernard and his wife lived. The Square of Chorrol lies in the opposite direction.

“No, the Square. He turned to his left and sprinted off without even so much as an apology.”

“Your left or his left?”

“His left, coming out the door.”

“Surely not.”

“But it was, old chap,” Fasarel said, annoyed. “Going to his left takes him up the main street, leading to the Square with the Great Tree. That’s where he was going. What’s your interest in this, anyway?”

I made a dismissive gesture, but that evening I made a point of remaining behind in the dining room with an eye on the door, well past my usual hour. And when it was time for Bernard to leave, I saw to my chagrin that it was as Fasarel had described it – he charged heedlessly out the door, and turned to his left, in the opposite direction from his domicile.

Amazed, I was out the door and pursuing him for two streets before I realized what I was doing. He was most certainly proceeding at a brisk pace, even a breakneck one, in the direction of the Square, around which the various Guild offices are placed. But he did not go to the Square – after another street, he ducked into an alleyway. I followed behind at a discreet distance, and I saw him at a dingy door, speaking to someone through the sliding panel at eye-level. They spoke for ten minutes or so, with him pressed up against the door. I fancied I could hear the faintest murmurs of what sounded like endearments of some kind. And from the little light that fell upon his face, coming from within the house, I saw his face wreathed with a silly sort of affection.

And then, Bernard surprised me further with his incomprehensible actions – he turned around and prepared to go back the way he came, obliging me to turn around hastily and return home myself.

Knowing that the lesser races are prone to all sorts of iniquity, could I doubt that this was some disreputable affair of Bernard’s? It seemed that his solicitude for his wife had been nothing but a sham, a dreadful pretense – insofar as he felt fear with regard to her, it was probably fear that she would recover. He probably told her nightly that he was detained at the inn until three.

The next day found me peeved and miserable, and I blame the venison steak, which was not cooked properly. Whether Bernard was faithful to his wife or not was nothing to me, but I had two plain reasons to insist that he return home straight from the inn: one, that he had embarrassed me in my own mind, by reason of my woeful ignorance; and two, that he could wait upon me better if he went to bed at a decent hour.

Yet I refrained from questioning him. There was something, a shadow on his face, something that – well – I fancy I could see his dying wife in it.

I was so out of sorts that I could eat no dinner, and so I left the Oak and Crosier, and made my way to the opposite side of the street. Waiting there, I happened to see the Khajiit girl Ma’zurah approaching, and so I took the chance to…

No. No, let me tell you the truth, though you shall surely bruit it about to my discomfiture and disadvantage. I was waiting for her.

“How is Bernard’s wife today?”

“She told this one to nod three times,” the little kitten replied, “but she looked practically like a zombie before she had the brandy.”

“Hush, child!” I said, shocked. “You don’t know how the undead look.”

“Don’t I just!” she said, lapsing rudely into informality. “I’ve seen plenty in the Chapel Undercroft. I’m going on seven years.”

“Is Bernard good to his wife?”

“Of course he is. Ain’t she his missus?”

“Why should that make him good to her?” I asked, cynically, out of my knowledge of the lesser races. But the girl, precocious in many ways, surely never had the opportunity of educating herself with proper Aldmeri tracts, dissertations and scholarly studies on the topic. She looked up at me and blinked those wide eyes of hers.

“Fumbadhassa! You ain’t half as smart as you look!”

I later learned the meaning of that expression, and it keeps slipping my mind that I have to cuff the back of her head properly for that insult. I shall do that the next time I see her.

“When does Bernard reach home at night?’

“Not at night. The morning. When I wake up and the sun isn’t out yet, and I hear the neighbor’s door creak, I know it’s Sir that’s coming back.”

“Sir?”

“Why, Bernard. We call him Sir, because he’s posh. Father just weaves baskets and sells moon sugar on the side, but Bernard Bruiant, he dresses proper, he does, clean clothes every day. Mother would like Father to be a waiter, but little chance of that! Is it true there’s a waiter just for to open the door?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“And another just for to lay the tables? Jode and Jone!”

“Bernard leaves the inn at one o’clock?” I said, interrogatively.

She nodded. “My mother nags at him, sometimes. Says he should get off at twelve, ‘cos his missus needs him more than you lot need him. Ah, my mother do talk. She’s half-Senche, sometimes.”

“And what does Bernard answer to that?”

“He says as how you gentlefolk can’t be kept waiting for your cheese.”

“But Bernard does not go straight home when he leaves the Oak and Crosier?”

“There’s the child.”

“Child,” I said, scarcely understanding, for knowing how little the “ephems”care about their offspring I had not thought to ask Bernard about his.

“Dint you know his missus had a child?”

“Why, yes, but - that is no excuse for Bernard staying away from his sick wife,” I said sharply. A baby in such a home as the Bruiants probably occupy would be trying, yes, but still - besides, his kind can sleep through any din.

“The child ain’t with us,” the kitten explained. “She’s all the way up East, close to the Castle. This one has never been as far as that.” She adopted a more respectful tone of voice when speaking of the Castle, which was a surprising show of decorum on her part.

“You mean, off the main street before one reaches the Square?”

“That’d be it. You know it?”

“Well, I suppose it is better for her not to have the child around…”

“Better! Go along now. Fumbadhassa! Ain’t that the reason she looks like one of the undead sometimes, that she don’t have the child with her?”

“How could you know that?”

“Because,” the irritating girl explained, “this one watches her, and this one sees her arms go around,” she pantomimed, “like this, just like she wanted to hug her kitten.”

“Possibly you are right,” I said, frowning, “but Bernard did the right thing in putting the child out to nurse, because it would disturb his night’s rest. He has his work to do…”

“Rahjin kodesh! You really _are_ a slow-paw!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It ain’t ‘cos of that! It’s on account of the pox!”

“Pox?”

“We’ve been hit with the pox again, and it’s getting the young ‘uns, near all of them.”

“You seem to be all right.”

“I said the young ‘uns.”

“And Bernard sent the baby on to the East district, to escape infection?”

“Aye, that he did.”

“Against his wife’s wishes?”

“No! Jaji vaba sheggori!”

“But you said she was dying for want of the child.”

“Wouldn’t she rather die than have her kitten die?”

“Don’t speak so heartlessly, girl. Why does Bernard not go straight home from the inn? Does he go to the East district to see it?”

“T’ain’t an ‘it’, it’s a ‘she’. Of course he do.”

“Then he should not. His wife has first claim on him.”

“Slow-paw! It’s his wife as wants him to do it! Do you think she could sleep until she knows how her child is?”

“But he does not go into the house in the East District? He stays outside by the door?”

“Well, _he_ ain’t a slow-paw. He stays away, so he don’t bring the infection in. They hold the child up to the door, so he can have a good look. Then he comes home and tells the missus. He sits at the foot of the bed and tells her.”

“And that takes place every night? Surely he can’t have much to tell.”

“Of course he do.”

“He can only say whether the child is well or ill.”

“Slow-paw. He tells her what difference there is since he last saw the child.”

“There can be no difference!”

“Wafiit! Jer vara wafiit! Ain’t a kitten always growing? Haven’t Sir to tell how the hair is getting darker, and heaps of things besides?”

“Such as?”

“Such as whether she laughed, and if she has her mother’s nose, and if she knew him for a father. He tells the missus these things.”

“And all this time he’s sitting at the foot of the bed?”

“Sometimes he sits beside and holds her hand.”

“But when does he get to bed himself?"

“He don’t get much. He tells her as how he has a sleep at the inn.”

“He cannot say that.”

“This one heard him. But he do get into bed a bit, and they lay all quiet-like, her pretending she’s sleeping so he can sleep, and him a-feared to sleep in case he don’t wake up to give her the medicine.”

“What do the priests say about her?”

“Oh, they’ve got a good one. Sometimes the priest says she’d get better if she could see her child.”

“Nonsense!”

“And if she was taken out to the country.”

“Then why does Bernard not take her?”

She rolled her eyes at me, the impudent creature. “And if she were to drink stronger tonics.”

“Doesn’t she?”

“If they had the gold for it!”

On the tenth day after my conversation with this unattractive kitten I was on my carriage with my traveling hood drawn up firmly around my face. Naturally, I was afraid of being seen in the company of Bernard’s wife and Ma’zurah, for people are uncharitable and despite the explanation I had ready they would’ve had all sorts of accusations for me. As a matter of fact Bernard was sending his wife out to Aleswell, north of the Imperial City, to stay with some old associates of mine, and I was giving them a ride because my horses needed an outing. Besides, I was going there myself, at any rate. It was just out of sheer expediency.

I had arranged that the Khajiit girl, Ma’zurah, would accompany us, because knowing the greed and duplicity of her kind, I feared she might blackmail me at the Embassy.

Bernard came out to meet us later outside the city gates, bringing the baby with him, as I had foreseen they would all be occupied with it, thus saving me the trouble of having to converse with them. I found Bernard’s wife Hakrubah to be too fragile for a Redguard woman, and I formed a mean opinion of her intelligence from her pride in her baby, which was a very ordinary one. She created a vulgar scene when the child was brought to her, even though she’d given me her word not to do so. And what irritated me even more than her tears was her ill-founded worry that the baby might not know her anymore. I would have told her that babies at that age don’t know anyone for years, were I not afraid of the kitten Ma’zurah who dandled the infant on her knees and talked to it as if it could understand her.

She kept me on tenterhooks by asking it offensive questions, such as, “Do you know the kind person what gave me these nice new clothes?” and answering herself, “’Twas that nice septim-skinned Elf over there, ain’t his skin just like a gold septim?” And several times I had to pretend to be asleep because Ma’zurah would announce, “Kiddy wants to kiss the septim-skinned Elf.”

Irksome as all this was to me, I suffered even more when we reached our destination. As we drove through Aleswell Ma’zurah and Hakrubah uttered all sorts of noises of delight, looking out at the fields and the rows of watermelon, columbine and corn, and assorted other agrarian products. They even had unseemly comments about the morning glory growing up along the walls of the houses we passed. As my horses required rest I was forced to abandon my intention of dropping off these persons at their lodgings and returning to town at once, to resume my disrupted routine. Disagreeable circumstances, therefore, compelled me to take a midday meal with a Breton waiter and his family, and as we sat I looked out the window and saw the obnoxious little kitten Ma’zurah speaking excitedly to some of the villagers, several of whom I knew in passing. No doubt they were saying very unfair things about how I was supposedly being good to Bernard. I had a desire to go out and put myself right with those people.

Bernard should have known that his thanks were an insult to me, but the lesser races can never seem to remember their place or their manners. When he was not speaking his thanks he was looking them. Nothing is in worse form than whispering, yet he was perpetually whispering to his wife when he thought I was not listening, “You don’t feel faint?” or “How are you now?” He was also in extravagant glee because she ate two sweetcakes - how little it takes to get the lesser races excited! When she said she felt like another being already, the dastardly fellow cast a gaze upon me that charged me with causing the alteration. I could not help but conclude, from the way Hakrubah Bruiant was allowing the baby to pound her, that she was stronger than she had pretended.

I remained longer than necessary, I confess, because I had something to say to Bernard that I felt sure he would misunderstand, and so I put off saying it. But when he announced that he had to leave Aleswell and return to Chorrol, and his wife paled even though he signaled to her not to break down, I felt I had no choice but to deliver my message.

“Bernard,” I said, “the proprietress of the Oak and Crosier has asked me to say that you can take a fortnight’s holiday, starting tomorrow. Your wages will be paid as usual.”

Confound them! Bernard had grabbed my hands - the outrageous brass cheek of the man! And his wife was in tears before I could reach the door.

“Is it your doing again, sir?” Bernard cried.

“Bernard!”

“We owe you too much,” he said. “The new tonics…”

“Arenwe had an excess of lavender and lady’s mantle in her stores, and there was nowhere to put them.”

“The money for the nurse in Chorrol…”

“Because I object to being waited upon by a waiter who gets no sleep.”

“These lodgings…”

“I wanted to do something for an old business associate of mine who owns this building.”

“And now, sir, a fortnight’s holiday!”

_“That’s enough, Bernard! Goodbye!”_ I said in a towering fury.

But before I could get away, Hakrubah signaled at Bernard to leave the room, and then she took my hand. She kissed my hand. She said something to me. It was about my wife. Somehow I - what business had Bernard to tell her about my wife?

They are all back in Chorrol now, and Bernard tells me Hakrubah sings at her work again as she used to eight years ago. I have no interest in this, and try to check talk of it - but you people of the lesser races have no sense of propriety, and that certainly includes that rude kitten Ma’zurah, who sent me a gaudy pair of gloves her mother made. The meanest advantage they took of my weakness, however, was in naming their daughter “Ancola”, a name similar to mine, yet part of the mother’s Redguard heritage. I have an uncomfortable suspicion as well that Bernard has told the other waiters, and other members of the Breton community in Chorrol besides, his own distorted version of the whole affair.

So here I relate to you the unvarnished facts as I know them. You can plainly see how I have been most put upon. You may be an untrustworthy Nord invader of these territories, but I have heard you described as an “honorable woman” by persons of good repute, and so I would like to prevail upon you to set the record straight… “Dragonborn”.


End file.
